


Those Who Run

by Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:32:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r/pseuds/Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r
Summary: Harvey isn't quite sure if he belongs here, trapped in this maze longside the other boys. Maybe it's just that being trans makes things a little confusing, or maybe it's because he has a feeling that there's something bigger going on. But the days are unsure and unsteady, so Harvey clings to those that he can call anchors. People come, people go and more names are added to the Deadheads. And yet, Harvey clings to those anchors. Because Harvey may be lost at sea, but he's not lost alone.





	1. Before

        Harvey isn’t sure where he is, but he does know that the sun is bright as fuck and he can’t remember anything about himself. Nothing except his name, but something’s weird about it. He feels like it should be longer. Sitting up so fast that it makes his head spin, Harvey’s gaze whips around the surrounding area, quick, darting glances so as not to overwhelm himself. It’s massive, the space. Harvey can see a cluster of trees closer to a wall. Big enough to be a forest, he supposed.

        Clambering to his feet clumsily, the boy turns slowly. He’s in the middle of the whole thing, right beside a sheet of metal with a crack in the middle. Harvey squints at it suspiciously, creeps forwards to inspect it. He nudges it with his foot, and when nothing happens he places the foot on the metal carefully. It doesn't give way, so Harvey puts his other foot down and inspects the metal. It’s shiny, so shiny that Harvey’s able to see his reflection in it.

        His eye iz wide, the color of… honey. Honey was sweet. Bees made honey. A barrage of memories come to the forefront of Harvey’s mind, facts that he doesn’t remember learning. He brushes them aside, peering at his reflection closer. One hand comes up to brush his left eye一or where his eye should be. In its place is a frayed patch of black fabric. Harvey doesn’t have to peel it off to know that there’s going to be an empty cavity where his other eye would be. His hair is shaggy, just barely brushing the base of his neck. It’s black, but there’s a faded patch of green and another patch of purple. Dye.

        Harvey remembers what that is. He vaguely recalls that, depending on what kind it is, the color will fade if he doesn’t reapply it.

        Standing slowly, Harvey looks around the area once more. He can just barely see the unconscious forms of about nine other people. A closer look tells him that they’re all boys. Something’s nagging at the back of his mind, but with the information slowly trickling into his brain, he just dismisses it. He picks his way across the grass to the closest boy, crouching down to look at him. Blonde hair, about the same length as Harvey’s own.

        Square jaw, long legs. Narrow frame, but the muscles make up for it, at least a little bit. He’s not awake, not even stirring, so Harvey reaches down carefully and shakes him. No response. Harvey shakes him again, harder, and there’s a little bit of mumbling. His one remaining eye narrows, and he pokes the boy in the chest sharply. Harvey falls back on his ass to avoid being hit in the head, as, all of a sudden, the boy surges up with a surprised yell.

        Scrambling to his feet, Harvey tucks them under him so that he’s crouching, ready to bolt at any second. “Who are you?” the boy demands, eyes wide and fearful, a bit empty and disoriented. They’re brown, the color of chocolate.

        “Where are we? How did we get here?” He’s got a British accent. Harvey can’t remember how he knows that.

        Harvey opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He coughs, pounds on his chest. The impact feels weird. Ignoring the rapid-fire questions of the other boy, Harvey’s hand flattens against his chest. There. Something is wrapped around his chest, and he’s honestly surprised that he hadn’t been aware of it before now. A word pops up. Binder. Something to… bind something. Bind… breasts.

        For boys who were born in the wrong body and changed their body so that they were comfortable in their own skin. Trans. Transgender. That was Harvey. He was transgender. Harvey’s one honey eye widens, and he looks up, meeting the eyes of the other boy.

        “I dunno where we are,” he says, mind pinwheeling all over the place. “There are others.” His eyes dart around the enclosed space (there were four massive walls closing the area off from whatever was out there, covered in vines that didn’t quite stretch all the way to the top). “I think we were sent here,” Harvey mutters. There’s the sound of scuttling, and the boy squawks in surprise when something scuttles out of ankle-height grass.

        It’s silver, with a long, cylindrical body and twelve little legs. There’s a red light at the front of the thing, and something written on its torso. Harvey leans in cautiously, the blonde doing the same.

        “WICKED,” the blonde murmurs. He and Harvey exchange glances. Then, in one swift move, Harvey rises to his feet and boots the thing as hard as he can. The Brit blinks, eyes wide. “Well,” he says, “that’s one way to do it.” Squinting up at the other, the blonde offers Harvey a hand. “Newt,” he says. He scowls all of a sudden. “If that’s even my real name,” he mutters darkly. Harvey shrugs, glancing around at all the other boys.

        “We should probably get ‘em all up.”

 

 

        Two hours later (or at least, about two hours. There wasn’t really any way to tell time), all the boys are up and about. They’re all trapped in the small walled-off space, so all any of them can really do is wander around or laze around. There’s an Asian boy, with black hair that’s spiked up so tall that it seems to be defying gravity circling around the outermost edges of the enclosed space. Harvey frowns. They might have to figure out a name for this place. Calling it ‘the area’ and different, glorified versions of ‘prison’ was getting a little irritating.

        Harvey’s one of the boys that have simply sat down and done nothing. His eyes are the only part of him that’s moving, darting around the place and observing each boy carefully, as well as his surroundings. Briefly, Harvey wonders how this is going to work. If the people who put them all here were going to actually send them shit instead of just leaving them to rot. Newt, the blonde Brit that Harvey had woken first, is talking with a dark-skinned boy.

        As he watches, the blonde walks off. Strains of awkward, stilted conversations can barely be heard from where Harvey is sitting, right beside the metal doors. Or at least, he thought they were doors. The hairline fracture in the center of it made Harvey assume that that was where two sides of some sort of slidey door thing met. The sun is setting in the sky, and Harvey clambers to his feet, heading towards the trees. They could serve as shelter for the night if it rained, he supposed, but from what he could remember lightning was attracted to trees, so maybe not. Still, it was going to be cold sleeping out in the open.

        If the people who sent them here were sending them supplies, Harvey hopes that they’re going to send them something to make a shelter out of. Harvey wonders if it will rain at all in this place.

        Noises attract Harvey’s attention, and the black-haired boy glances over to where the rest have gathered. Walking closer, Harvey can make out the forms of the Asian kid from earlier and a few more boys climbing the ivy on the walls. The Asian one is pretty far up, but as Harvey watches, he begins to descend. He stays back and watches him try four more walls. Three hours later, they all give up and head to the forest near the wall.

        There’s a little bit of fighting about sleeping spots, but before long everyone’s settled down. A few boys are complaining, but Harvey pays them no mind as he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

 

 

        Harvey is awoken by the ground shaking underneath him. Some instinct deep inside him has him rolling to his feet smoothly and sprinting blindly towards whatever is making the noise. It’s the walls. Except they’re not just walls, they’re doors too. The rest of the boys gather behind Harvey, hair sticking up in all directions, watching in awe as the wall in front of them opens up.

        There’s a few cries of relief, and for a brief second, a small flame of hope burns in Harvey’s chest before he squashes it mercilessly. Hope wasn’t going to get him out of this place. The dark-skinned boy that Newt talked to the other day is the first person to take a step into whatever was outside of the area (seriously. Harvey needs something to call this place), and that gives everyone else the courage to file in behind him.

        They split off quickly, but Harvey is careful with where he goes, sticking close to Newt. The blonde doesn’t comment, just lets Harvey jog alongside him.

 

 

        By the time the sun is beginning to set, all the boys have gathered back in the Glade (because it’s a small, relatively clear space in the middle of what Harvey had found out was a maze). Dejection is visible on everyone’s faces, but one kid steps up. It’s the Asian boy who was climbing the walls last night.

        “We need a proper system in place,” he says firmly. “As far as I can tell, that’s a maze out there. And until we can find a way out, I have a feeling that we’re going to be stuck here for the time being.” Harvey raises an eyebrow.

        “How would this system work?” he asks. “We don’t have enough people to make it work.” Newt crosses his arms.

        “First thing that we need to sort out is that not all of us can go running out into that maze everyday. Look at us. We’re all bloody buggered.” It was true. Most of the group was sitting, and the few that were standing were slumping.

        “If that’s the case, then we need to pick out people with enough endurance to last out there for the day,” one boy pipes up.

        “We need to sort out sleeping arrangements too,” Harvey adds. “I ain’t sleepin’ out with the bugs as long as I can help it.”

        “Do you think whoever put us here is going to send us supplies?” another boy asks quietly. Harvey purses his mouth. “They better,” he replies flatly.

 

 

        The next day the people who condemned them to this hellhole sent them supplies and one more boy. Harvey’s eye is narrowed, mouth pursed as he stares down at the boy who’s shielding his eyes with his hand, still-wet tear tracks glinting in the sunlight.

        “We need a rope to get this shit out,” Newt mutters.

        “No shit, Sherlock,” Harvey replies. He frowns soon after. He has no idea who or what the fuck a Sherlock is, doesn’t even know where the phrase had come from. And yet it had rolled right off his tongue. Shaking the déjà vu away, Harvey couches down and drops into the box. The boy scrambles away from him, and Harvey rolls his eyes. Reaching out, the raven-haired boy snags the other’s wrist, yanking him closer and pushing him towards a crate.

        “Climb up,” Harvey says flatly. “Try not to break anything.” The boy’s eyes are wide and terrified, but he obeys the other, scrambling out of the box. Newt is crouched at the edge, and he helps haul the kid out. Harvey squints up at Newt, who’s crouched at the edge of the box.

        “You need help?” the blonde asks. Harvey shrugs, taking a quick look around.

        “Sure.” The Brit braces one hand against the ground, swinging his legs out from under him and uncoiling as he drops into the Box. There’s a few chickens in a crate. A small stockpile of food. Packets of seeds and gardening equipment. Newt and Harvey pass all of these things up, where they’re received by Minho and Alby (the black kid that Newt had been talking to on the first day) and laid down on the ground.

        Once the Box is empty, Newt braces his hands on his knee, and boosts Harvey up so that he can grab the edge of the Box and haul himself out. Newt jumps, and all nine boys in addition to the new one survey the equipment.

        “Well,” Alby says, “guess we better start digging.”

 

 

        Three months. That’s how long they’d been in the Glade. There are at least thirty boys now, and there should be a new addition today. They’d worked out a system by now, had figured out the rules of the game. Most of them, anyway, enough for them to survive. They’d made a rope to retrieve things from the Box, but there was still no shelter. A few boys had been wondering about building some sort of small shelter, but so far there wasn’t enough equipment to make one.

        There’s a small shelter made out of scraps of wood leaned up against the northwest corner of the Glade, which a few of the boys are sleeping under these days. The centipede-like things had been dubbed the Beetle Blades by a few Gladers, and the name had stuck. They’d caught one once, cracked it open. Cameras were on the inside, so whoever sent them up was still watching.

        Harvey didn’t have the faintest idea why, but they are and honestly he has far too much to worry about now to focus on that.

        The raven-haired boy’s head snaps around when the familiar alarm blares, and his legs pump hard, bringing him in front of the Box as it begins to open, metal grinding and squealing as it does. There’s another boy inside, both hands pressed against his eyes. The expression on his face makes a few boys laugh, but most of them are speculating who this kid might be, what category he’d fit into.

        Gally shoves his way to the front, George right behind him, with the rope looped around his arm. With a nod to Nick, the unofficial leader so far, Gally drops the rope down for the kid. Harvey helps haul him up, but George is the first one to hold out a hand. The newest addition takes it, shakes it firmly.

        “My name’s George,” he says. “Welcome to the Glade.”

 

 

        Twenty-four hours later, and everything goes to shit. Nick comes back, and this time he’s dragging George with him. Alby and Newt hurry up to help him get George to the Homestead (what they’d begun calling the small lean-to), while Harvey kicked at any Beetle Blades that got too close for his liking.

        “What the fuck’s going on?” Harvey mutters as George is lid down inside the Homestead. Alby tugs him close so that he, Newt, Nick and Harvey formed a wall around the opening to the lean-to, blocking it from the Beetle Blades’ sight.

        “I don’t know,” Alby whispers back. His gaze turns to Nick. “You were out running with him. What did you see?”

        “I didn’t see anything, he was too far ahead of me,” Nick says defensively.

        “Guys, look,” Newt says. Harvey looks, and swears as George suddenly surges to life, eyes bulging, face red as a cherry and writhing furiously, limbs jerking all over the place. Alby leans forwards, muscles tightening in his attempt to grab ahold of George. The formerly easy-going boy growls and scratches, teeth snapping wildly at Alby’s reaching hands. Newt ducks into the Homestead, and together he and Alby manage to drag the crazed boy out by the ankles.

        Almost as soon as he releases George’s feet, though, Alby rears back and sinks a fist into George’s face. And again and again and again. Harvey swears again, and Newt seizes Alby’s arm and yanks him back to where Harvey and Nick had stopped approaching.

        “What the bloody hell is wrong with him?” Newt demands of Nick.

        “I told you guys,” the brunette says. “We were out exploring the Maze. He was always ahead of me. I heard all these mechanical sounds, and then George screamed. I could barely get him back here.” Nick’s face gets steadily redder with every word he utters, and Harvey shifts, ready to intervene if necessary. “Why’d you bring him here, anyways?” Nick adds.

        “I didn’t want the others to see him,” Alby explains, shoulders tense. “Get everybody spooked. Fat chance of avoiding that now.” Over on the ground, George makes a pained sound. Harvey’s brow creases in worry, but he makes no move to help the other.

        “Well, why were you just hitting him in the face?” Nick presses, face getting steadily more flushed. “He’s my friend, you know. He needs medical help, not some hothead beating on him.”

        “Slim it,” Harvey says sharply, the newly-created slang slipping off his tongue smoothly. “George was trying to bite Alby, but he didn’t need to punch him. What we need to do, though, is figure out what the fuck we do.” All four boys turn back to the fifth one on the ground. George’s face is red and swollen, veins bulging out from his head. Harvey’s almost afraid that they’re going to pop.

        “Did you see what attacked him?” Alby asks calmly. Nick shakes his head.

        “Saw nothing.”

        “Did George say anything?” Newt presses. Nick nods this time.

        “Well, yeah, I think so. Not sure, but I think he kept whispering “It stung me, it stung me, it stung me.” It was weird, man. He sounded like he was possessed or something.” Nick’s eyes are wide and scared as they dart around the group. “What’re we gonna do?” Harvey breathes in deeply. Lets it out before bending down to grab George’s legs.

        “I think the cat’s out of the bag by now. Get him to the middle of the Glade, see if any of the boys know what to do.”

        “Hey!” Newt shouts all of a sudden, making Harvey jump. He looks up, and sees that the Brit is yelling at a nearby Beetle Blade. “Whoever sent us here! Send us some medicine. How ‘bout a bloody doctor? Better yet, why don’t you take us out of this helllhole!”

        Harvey purses his lips, bending down to grip George’s ankles once again. He grunts, ducking to the side of a flailing leg. Alby quickly bends down to help, and Nick goes around to try and grab one of George’s arms. Eventually, the four of them manage to capture one thrashing limb each and drag George all the way to the center of the Glade, which is right beside the doors that lead to the Box.The group rounded the small structure they'd started calling the Homestead and headed for the center area of the Glade near the opening to the Box.

        More boys take notice as they pass, gathering behind the five boys as they get to the Box. Beetle Blades are swarming up to the area, and Harvey makes a face at one, kicking at it with one booted foot. Alby, Newt and Harvey step back, let Nick do the talking. 

        "Listen up!" he yells. "George and I were out in the Maze, running the corridors, and he got up ahead of me. Something attacked him. He keeps saying he got stung. Anybody know anything about this?" 

        "Minho's seen some kind of creature out there," Alby offers. 

        "Where's Minho?"

        "Still out," Harvey replies shortly. 

        "It was one of those creatures he talked about, though," Alby insists. "Had to be." 

        "It doesn't really mater what it was." Nick points at George, who had curled up into a tight ball, rocking back and forth. "What are we going to do with him? All we have is a bunch of aspitin and bandages." 

        "There was something weird in the cooking supplies they sent up last week," a voice offers. Harvey's head whips around just as a tall African-American boy steps out of the crowd. 

        "What are you talking about, Siggy?" Nick demands. A small smile plays at the edge of Harvey's mouth despite the situation. 

        "He goes by Frypan, Nicky," he says. A few snickers from the other boys. Nick ignores Harvey, although Alby looks at the raven-haired boy warningly. 

        "It was in the bottom of a cardboard box," Frypan recalls. "Some kind of syringe, had the word serum printed on it. I figured it was a mistake somebody had accidentally dropped it in there, whatever. Threw it out with the sausage leftovers this morning." Alby practically appears in front of Frypan, gripping his shirt and pulling him in close so that he can get in his face. 

        "You threw it out?" the shorter of the two growls. "Didn't bother telling anybody? No wonder you wanna cook, ain't got brains for nothin' else." The smile that Frypan gives is smug. 

        "If that makes you feel smarter. Anyway, I'm telling you now, aren't I? Slim it." 

        "Where'd you throw it away?" Nick asks quickly. "Maybe it's not broken. Let's at least take a look at it." 

        "Be right back." Alby's grip on Frypan's shirt loosens, enough for the other boy to jog off towards the Homestead. 

        The minutes tick by slowly, and with each passing second George seems to get worse. By the time Frypan returns, cylindical metal something in hand, George is gasping for air but otherwise unmoving. And his eyes... That's what scare Harvey the most. They seem to be emptying, the life in them leaving. 

        The syringe passes from Frypan to Nick, and Harvey backs away as Nick kneels down beside his friend. 

        "Anyone know how to do this?" Nick calls. "Wher to stick it?"

        "Anywhere!" Alby yells. "Just hurry and do it! Look at him!" Nobody else speaks, so Nick takes the syringe and jams the needle into George's arm. No reaction. The brunette presses the plunger down until all the serum inside is gone before dropping the syringe and stepping back. 

        Silence. 

 

 

 

 


	2. Before, Part II

        In a sudden burst of explosive movement, George shoots to his feet with an inhuman roar. The Gladers all retreat hastily, but Harvey, Newt, Alby and Nick all stand their ground.

“Griever!” the crazed boy screams, voice hoarse and strained. “It was a damned Griever! They’ll kill us all!” And then without warning, George pounces on the person nearest to him.

        Harvey.

        The raven-haired boy lets out a cry of surprise as the weight of the bigger boy crashes into him, sending the two tumbling back into the grass. The smaller of the two doesn’t have time to recover before George is laying into him, fists beating into whatever they can reach. Just as quickly though, the bigger boy switches tracks, nails raking across Harvey’s face. And then his fingers are digging into Harvey’s one remaining eye and he’s screaming.

        Flinging out one hand with adrenaline-fueled force behind it, Harvey manages to catch George across the neck and chin with his nails. The ravenette can feel some of them break, but he doesn’t really care. The sudden attack makes George pause as he registers the pain, and Harvey uses that.

        Bucking his hips like a bull, he manages to send George tumbling away.

        Staggering to his feet, Harvey ducks out of the way of a punch, hand going to his belt where a set of scissors from the Med Jack’s supplies are tucked. And when George reorients himself and charges at Harvey, the ravenette doesn’t move out of this way this time.This time he thrusts the scissors forwards.

        A spray of blood spatters red all over Harvey.

        A low gasp from a few boys as Harvey steps back, letting go of the scissors. George hits the ground with a sickening thump.

        Harvey’s vision blurs, and his breaths are gasping and uneven. His legs feel like jelly, and give way as Newt steps up to Harvey’s side, shaking him by the shoulder. No response.

        “Harv,” the blonde says, shaking the other boy harder. Still no response. “Harvey,” Newt says, using both hands this time. It works, and Harvey looks up from his blood-bathed hands.

        “What did I do?” the smaller boy asks quietly, eyes wide and gaze unfocused. His hands are shaking violently. Newt hesitates.

        “It’s not your fault,” he finally settles on. Harvey makes a quiet noise.

        “But I killed him,” Harvey whispers.

 

 

        One month later, a Runner named Fred goes missing in the Maze. Minho assigns partners, even if the Runners are spread thin enough as is.

 

 

        “We need more workers,” Zart says, arms crossed and stance defensive. “Everyone else is snapping up Greenies, but we’ve got three workers, two of which are working part-time.”

        “Well, we need more Runners,” Minho argues. “We don’t have any reserves, and if we lose another Runner there’s going to be someone without a partner to watch their back.”

        “We keep you fed,” Zart snaps. “Without enough workers, we can’t keep up with Frypan’s demands and everything falls behind.”

        “Well, what if Harvey worked around the week too?” Newt suggests. “I’m already doing it, and if Harv does it too, we should be able to do more work together, right?”

        “That leaves me short a Runner every day one of you is out,” Minho points out.

        “Yeah, well, better than having one Runner without a partner until another Greenie comes up,” Harvey argues. “There’s not even going to be a guarantee that you’re getting him, anyways.” Minho grinds his teeth.

        “Fine.”

 

 

        Rhythm in the Glade was simple. Follow the rules, do your jobs. Runners went out at the crack of dawn (but Harvey is bugging Minho about maybe going out later, because all the boys who have been stung seem to be out when there’s low light, or when the sun is just rising or setting) and came back just before the doors closed. There were a few disruptions, though.

        Today was one of those days.

        For Harvey, it starts out normally. He goes to see Newt and Minho off, then goes back to help Zart pick all the fruit off of the trees, then halfway through the day he walks across the Glade to help Frypan clean the dishes from lunch.

        It’s around then when an almost inhuman scream splits the quiet lull of the Glade.

        Harvey’s head whips around, and he’s already running towards the sound before he truly recognizes the voice. It’s Gally.

        The raven-haired boy quickly passes all of the other boys, and runs straight through the south door of the Maze, skidding to a stop beside Gally. Stooping down, Harvey loops his arms underneath Gally’s and grunts with the effort of hauling him back. Gally is moaning the entire way, and when Harvey finally gets him back to the south door, Clint, one of the Med-Jacks, is waiting with a syringe of the serum.

        A pang of regret pierces Harvey, because George was the only one to die because of that stuff.

 

        Gally’s screams keep everyone up that night.

 

 

        “Newt, have you seen Gibbs around lately?” Harvey calls, jogging up to the blonde. The Brit frowns.

        “No. I think he’s still out running in Section 4.” Harvey freezes, looking up at the sky.The sun is beginning to set. Which means the doors are going to close soon.

        “Shuck,” Newt mutters, and then they’re both tearing off towards the east door. The walls rumble, and then the doors begin to close. There’s a panicked yell, and then a red-haired boy rounds the corner of the corridor visible from the entrance of the Maze. Newt and Harvey both stand at the very, very edge of the Glade, yelling for Gibbs to hurry up and haul ass.

        Harvey sees the redhead reach out, only to get his hand crushed between the doors.

 

        Nobody hears Gibbs die, but in the morning his remains are at the end of the corridor.

 

 

        “That’s three Runners we’ve lost in two months,” Minho says, slamming a fist down onto the table. Harvey doesn’t flinch. He does notice that Minho doesn’t say that they lost all of those Runners to the Grievers.

        Sometimes, the only way out that anyone can see is the easy one.

        Harvey just hopes that it was painless.

        “Well, we aren’t getting another Greenie for another two weeks, so Harv and I could be Runners full-time until then,” Newt suggests.

        “That leaves me with two hands short for harvesting the grain next week!” Zart exclaims.

        “Running is more important,” Minho insists.

        “Keeping your shuck ass fed is important,” Zart snaps. Harvey clears his throat.

        “Maybe Newt and I could swap out being Runners for the next two weeks,” he offers. “That way Zart has enough hands for the harvest.”

        “That leaves someone without a partner, though,” Minho points out. Nick sighs, burying his head in one hand.

        “We can’t really be picky, Minho,” he says tiredly. “That’ll work.”

 

 

        A stupid Greenie is all it took for Harvey to end up with the Med-Jacks, shirt off, a few confused boys and a cut across his stomach.

        Harvey’s face is stone-cold and expressionless.

        “So you’re saying that you were born a girl, but you’re really a boy?” Nick asks confusedly. Harvey nods mechanically, and their leader tips his head up to the ceiling.

        “I’d take Grievers any day, this is just confusing,” Minho mutters. Newt squints at Harvey.

        “You’re still a boy, though, right?”

        Harvey nods again, and that’s that.

 

 

        That morning, Newt and Harvey make their rounds, Newt on the east and Harvey on the west. After that, though, Harvey looks for Newt but can’t seem to find him.

        Initially, the raven-haired boy brushes it off and chalks it up to Newt wanting to be left alone, but after the sun passes the midway mark, he starts getting a little worried.

        “Hey, Frypan!” Harvey calls, jogging into the slophouse. The aforementioned Glader looks up from the dishes he’s already begun.

        “That’s me.”

        “You seen Newt around lately?”

        “Winston saw him over by the cornfield earlier,” the cook says after a little thought. “Leo might’ve seen him heading for the Deadheads.”

        Harvey nods in thanks before hurrying off towards the Deadheads.

        No Newt.

        It’s around the time that most of the Runners are returning to the Glade, but there’s still no Newt. Harvey is a jittery capsule of nervousness, and when Alby emerges from the Maze, Harvey makes a beeline straight towards him.

        He picks up the pace when he spots a familiar blonde head of hair, though.

        “Alby!” Harvey calls once he’s close enough. “Newt!”

        A groan of pain from the latter, and Harvey’s heart skips a beat.

        Newt is leaning heavily against Alby, wincing every time he puts weight on one leg. He looks disappointed, but for the life of him Harvey can’t figure out why.

 

        Later that night, when Newt is held up with Jeff and Clint in the Med-Jack section of the Homestead, Alby gathers Frypan, Minho, Harvey and Nick together.

        “I found him in the Maze,” the dark-skinned boy says, voice low. “He was unconscious, and when he woke up he asked me why it didn’t work.”

        Harvey sucks in a sharp breath. Minho’s brow creases.

        “Do you think he… ?”

        Frypan doesn’t finish the question, but they all know what he’s trying to ask.

 

        “Why’d you do it?”

        “We’re dropping like flies, Harv. It’s been a year. We still haven’t found a way out.”

        “That’s not a full answer.”

        “Watching everyone die is the bloody wrst, Harv.”

        “I get it, I think. Just didn’t know it was so hard on you.”

        A long stretch of silence.

        “Why didn’t you tell any of us?”

        “I don’t know.”

More silence.

        “I don’t care how bad you think it is, how much you think that it’ll weigh any of us down. Next time you start thinking like that, I want you to tell someone. M’kay?”

        “Okay.”

        “Promise?”

 

        “Promise.”

 

 

        Recovery is slow and frustrating for Newt, that Harvey can easily tell. Jeff and Clint are fighting a constant battle to keep him in bed so as not to hinder the healing process for the leg.

        Deep down, Harvey knows that the best they can hope for is that Newt will be able to walk again, and even that’s a stretch.

        There’s always been a simmering fire of hate for the Creators, whoever put them in this hellhole, but now that anger has increased tenfold.

        They were the ones to blame for this, for Newt being in bed with a broken leg.

        They were the ones at fault.

        A small, malicious part of Harvey tells him that maybe he’s just mad at the Creators because he blames himself for not seeing any of that coming.

 

 

        Two months after Newt had jumped from the walls of the Maze, he’s back on his feet in a brace, crutches and under strict instructions to avoid standing as much as he can.

        Not that Newt listens.

 

 

        About three months after Newt leapt from that wall, Zart announces that one of the hens hatched five eggs and that he needs help taking care of them.

Harvey volunteers Newt, because maybe if Newt has something relying on him to keep it alive then he won’t think about jumping again.

 

 

 

        The Creators send up a cat.

        Harvey’s the one it gets dumped on initially, and when he’s out running in the Maze Newt takes care of it.

        Before long, though, almost the entire Glade has taken to the small ginger furball.

        Nick names it Mocha, which causes a bit of an uproar (“It’s a ginger cat, Nick, you can’t name it Mocha!”), but Nick pulls rank and that’s that.

        Now there’s two Gladers walking around with animals trailing behind them; Newt with his chicken and Harvey with his cat.

        Mocha is adventurous, and it’s a bit of an exercise for everyone to keep him out of the Maze.

        He’s constantly getting into Frypan’s food stocks, but most of the time they manage to catch him before he can at too much.

        Minho likes scooping Mocha up and placing him in high places just to see how the ginger kitten manages to get down.

        Even Gally warms up to the kitten, although he fervently denies even considering cuddling Mocha.

        A lot of the younger Gladers constantly whisk Mocha away to cuddle, and honestly the ginger feline is a little ray of sunshine in the oppressive blackness that is the Maze. 

 


	3. Healing

Three Months After Newt's Jump

        Whenever Harvey thinks about how Newt jumped off the wall, he refuses to think of it as a suicide attempt. It's silly and stupid, but Harvey is still struggling to see Newt giving up.

        Since the very first day, Newt had been his anchor, one of the boys Harvey could rely on to be strong throughout everything that happened.

        Maybe that's what blinded him to how the Brit had begun to spiral. That by seeing him as an unbreakable being, he'd ignored all the signs that had told him otherwise.

        And so Harvey thinks back and looks at all the signs he missed.

        The bags under Newt's eyes, the weariness whenever the news of yet another Glader dying for some reason or another came through. The tension in his shoulders whenever the Runners left for the Maze without him.

        Now that Harvey knows, it's a little easier for him to accept that Newt had a valid reason.

        Now that Harvey knows, he understands.

        He doesn't deny it anymore.

        Newt did try to kill himself. He did try to commit suicide. And now Harvey is going to dedicate as much as he can to making sure that Newt never reaches that point ever again.

Four Months After Newt's Jump

         Newt's chicken (a girl) had begun shedding its fluffy down. It gets all over the place, but nobody can really bring themselves to complain when they see how dedicated Newt is to taking care of the baby chicken.

        Harvey doesn't remember learning it, but he thinks that the chick will be an adult in about four months.

        Mocha enjoys cuddling with the chick, and they seem to get along well enough.

        Newt is still hobbling around in the brace, supported by the crutches. He can't do much anymore, and Harvey can read the frustration on his face everytime he goes to assist someone before realizing that he can't anymore.

        But there are things that he can help with.

        The Track Hoes appreciate the blonde's help in the fields, and occasionally Zart allows him to help feed the livestock.

        Jeff and Clint are still talking about the healing process. From what Harvey had managed to wheedle out of the two, they believed that Newt's leg would take a long time to heal, but that they'd have to take the brace off eventually and begin training it so that Newt would be able to actually use it.

        Neither of them are certain when to do any of this, though, so really they're flying blind.

 

 

        "What if I'm stuck like this forever?"

        Harvey tips his head to the side, peering over the edge of his hammock. Newt's own is strung up beside his, and the blonde has one arm tucked under his head. His chick (one month after acquiring her, and the stubbon Brit still hasn't decided on a name) is tucked up under his chin.

        "What if my leg doesn't heal?" Newt asks, quiet enough not to wake the others and gently enough so that the chick isn't disturbed. Harvey shifts to lie on his side, propping his head up on one arm.

        "I think that you'd find some way to still be helpful," Harvey says truthfully. "I think that even with a dead leg, you'd still be unstoppable."

        "I can't run like this, though," Newt says. Harvey shrugs, even if he knows that the other boy probably can't see him in the dark.

        "You don't need to be out there running," the raven-haired boy says. "You can be here, helping in the fields or in the animal pens like you are now."

        "Running made me feel like I was making the biggest difference," Newt admits quietly. "It's part of why I didn't try earlier. To jump, I mean. I thought that if I could find a way out then I was honoring everyone who'd already died. But I didn't, not after a year. Nobody did."

        Harvey remains silent for a good minute, mulling over the new information. This was the first scrap of information Newt had offered up willingly since he'd first tried to kill himself, apart from when he was delirious from pain. It was a step, though.

        "I think that you need to help people," Harvey says quietly. "That you need to feel useful or else you feel useless. And when you feel useless, you let yourself beat down on what you could've done to be useful." A pause, and Harvey rolls over to stare up at the canopy of trees.

        "How's that supposed to help?" Newt asks, bitter edge creeping into his quiet tone.

        "It's not," Harvey says simply. "Just thought that if you knew what made you feel like you did before you jumped, then maybe you could watch yourself for anything like that that could happen again."

Five Months After Newt's Jump

        "Hey, Harv?"

        Harvey jumps, but turns quickly. Newt is leaning against one of his crutches, Dana (his chick) in the grass at his feet. There are black bags under his eyes, and his face looks drawn and pale.

        "You know how I promised to tell you whenever I thought that I wanted to kill myself again?"

        Harvey's eyes widen, and he drops his shovel quickly, waving Zart over.

        "Twenty minutes," he says before the Keeper can get a word out. "I'll be back." 

        Without giving him time to argue, Harvey hurries over to Newt, beckoning for him to follow as the raven-haired boy heads towards the forest.

 

 

        "Why'd you bring me here?"

        "It's peaceful. You can't hear most of the yelling from here."

        A snort.

        "I thought that was bloody impossible."

        "Y'know, I've always felt like I'm not supposed to be here. Maybe it's because I was supposed to be a girl, but turned out to be a boy, but maybe it's something else."

        "You were always meant to be a boy. You were just born with the wrong parts."

        A quiet laugh.

        "I'm supposed to help you. You're not supposed to be helping me."

        "I was thinking about what you said last month, and I think that maybe there's a little bit of truth in that. Helping people makes me feel good. Really good. And now that I'm stuck on crutches, I feel so helpless."

        "That's good, I guess."

        "What, me feeling helpless?"

        "You know what I mean."

        Silence.

        "Avoiding my problems was kinda what I did, I guess. Maybe I thought that fixing everyone else's bloody troubles would make it better, but it didn't. And even after I fixed things, something else fell apart. I couldn't keep up with all that, and I just didn't know how to deal with everything."

        "That's how I feel sometimes, I guess. That everything's too much. It's why I come out here. Makes it seem like nothing else but here exists. Puts me in my place, it does. Makes it easier."

        "You're surprisingly good at this." 

        A surprised laugh.

        "Think I should start a business when we get out of here?"

        "I think that you could help a lot of people."

Six Months After Newt's Jump

        Newt is smiling, today. A real smile, not a fake one meant for show, for making sure that nobody is too worried about him.

        Harvey doesn't know what he's smiling about, but it's nice to see him like that.

 

 

        The alarm for the Box sounds throughout the Glade, and Newt is the first one to the Box. Surprising, but Harvey bets that it's probably only because he was closest to the Box when the alarm sounded.

        The doors grind open with the usual grating noises, and Mocha meows in distress, tucking his nose into Harvey's neck. He flinches a little at the cold, but doesn't show any other reaction show.

        The doors are fully open by now, and Harvey hears Newt suck in an audible breath. The ravenette peers into the Box himself, and curses quietly. Gally shoves through the crowd with the rope, and when he looks into the Box even he does a double take.

        "How old is the bloody shank?" Newt mutters as Gally feeds to rope into the Box.

        "Can't be any older than twelve I reckon," Harvey whispers back. Gally doesn't even need help to haul the Greenie up and out of the Box, and once he's out he stares at everyone with wide eyes.

        There are tears still drying in the kid's eyes, and Harvey doesn't need two eyes to see how hard the Greenie's hands are shaking.

        Even Nick looks unsure about what to do, and for a good five minutes everyone just stands and stares in silence.

        But then Newt steps forwards, Dana trailing behind him. Mocha peers at the Greenie from Harvey's shoulder.

        "Hey, Greenie," Newt says, propping himself up on one crutch and offering a hand. "My name's Newt. Welcome to the Glade."

 

 

        The Greenie's name is Glenn, and he latches onto Newt like a leech.

        He still hasn't said more than a few words, and Harvey keeps a close eye on him as Newt takes him around the Glade.

        The two make an odd pair, but at the same time they seem to fit together. Glenn doesn't have to measure his steps in order to keep pace with Newt, and Dana has taken a liking to him too.

        As Harvey watches, the tension and apprehension that he had seen when Gally had first pulled Glenn out of the Box slowly dissolves as Newt talks. He sees the Greenie ask more questions, and Newt respond patiently.

        Even Nick didn't have that amount of skill with the Greenie's, and Harvey can tell that their leader knows as he watches the two from afar with the smaller boy.

        "You're thinking," Harvey says quietly, without even looking over. He senses Nick move from beside him, but he doesn't do much else.

        "And if I am?"

        "It's about Newt, isn't it?"

        Nick sighs heavily.

        "I haven't seen him this happy to be involved since he..." The words seem to have trouble coming out of his mouth. "Since he jumped," Nick finishes lamely. "And... Glenn seems comfortable. Whenever I greet the Greenie's it's like they're about to klunk their pants."

        Harvey hums. Mocha purrs, nuzzling into his neck.

        "What're you thinking?"

        "Maybe I don't welcome the Greenie's anymore," Nick says slowly. "What if Newt did?"

 

 

        "No. Absolutely not."

        "But you were great with Glenn today," Nick points out.

        "With Glenn," Newt insists. "He's one Greenie out of all of them. They can't all be approached the same way!"

        "Well, I'm sure that you can find a way to adapt to whatever approach you need to take," Nick says.

        "You've always done it the same way and the Greenies have turned out fine!"

        "I do it the same way every time and they almost always klunk in their pants!"

        "That doesn't mean anything! Besides, you're the leader, you're supposed to be the one to welcome them!"

        "Look, you don't really have a lot of options with your leg," Nick says bluntly. "Greeting the Greenies, I'm not that good at that. And I am the leader, so I'm telling you that you have to greet the Greenies, at least until your leg is out of that brace and you can walk without crutches. Then you can do whatever you want. But until then, you can welcome the Greenies."

Seven Months After Newt's Jump

        This time, when the alarm sounds for the Box, Newt is slow in getting to there, arriving just as Gally hauls the newest Glader over the edge of the Box with some help from Alby and Minho.

        Dana is fully grown, but refuses to part with Newt, so she's tailing him.

        Nick gives Newt a pointed look, and the blonde's shoulders slump before he makes his way over to the Greenie, who's kneeling on the grass beside the Box. Shifting so that he's balanced on one crutch, he holds out a hand.

        "Welcome to the Glade, Greenie. I'm Newt."

Eight Months After Newt's Jump

        The brace comes off today, and Harvey can see the nervous excitement that's shining in Newt's eyes.

        "No stressful tasks today," Jeff is saying. "Keep on your crutches, try not to use your leg too much. Swing by tomorrow, and we can start your physical therapy."

        Newt nods mutely, a little more apprehension visible in his eyes as Jeff picks up a knife that's laid out on the end of the cot.

        "Hold still," the Med-Jack warns.

        Then he starts sawing away.

 

 

        "How does freedom feel?" Minho asks, clapping Newt on the shoulder. The Brit smiles.

        "Well, my leg feels a lot lighter," he says dryly. There's something in his eyes that has Harvey glancing at the blonde suspiciously. Minho notices.

        "What's wrong?" he asks. Harvey bites his lip.

        "Newt," he says quietly, "what's wrong with your leg?"

        The blonde freezes up, and Minho looks at him with concern.

        "What do you mean?" the Asian asks. "Didn't Jeff clear you?" Newt swallows nervously.

        "Um. When the... When the brace came off Jeff said..." He hesitates. "Jeff said that my leg didn't... Didn't set properly."

        "What does that mean?" Minho asks, brow furrowed.

        "It means that my... My broken leg is shorter than... Shorter than my other one. I'm going to have a limp."

 

 

        "Have you decided yet?" Harvey asks, four days after the brace came off.

        Newt is completely still, but Harvey can hear his breathing clear enough to tell that he's awake.

        "Decided what?"

        "About the Greenies. Greeting them."

        A good five minutes of silence.

        "I think that I will," Newt finally says. "The way that Nick did it... He was right. They were all so bloody scared, and it feels good to know that the way I do it makes it so that they feel a little safer when they come up in the Box." He snorts a moment after. "But then again, I have to break the news to them that we're all trapped inside a bloody maze with no way out and there are monsters out there that could kill you."

        "But you're helping," Harvey reasons. "You're making them comfortable."

        "Yeah," Newt acquiesces. "I guess."

Nine Months After Newt's Jump

        "Two years in the Maze tomorrow," Alby says. "Frypan's gonna cook his best stuff, Gally's gonna make his punch and we're all gonna get drunk off our shuckin' asses."

        "Don't know what the bloody shuck we're celebrating," Newt grumbles.

        "Survival," Minho replies.

        The three of them plus Harvey are seated in a circle, empty plates beside them, looking up at the stars.

        Harvey doesn't need to see Newt to know that his face is taking on a dour expression. 

        "Honoring those who didn't make it," he says quietly.

        A low murmur of agreement from the others.


End file.
